Page 73 of One Spicy Summer

“Fifteen minutes isn’t enough.”

“Too bad.”

“Take off your jacket and baggy clothes.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not stripping for you,” she hisses.

“Fine,” I growl, stepping forward. “Then I’ll do it.”

Before she can bolt, I grab her, spin her around, and yank the jacket off her tiny frame. I pull up her oversized shirt, and my heart shatters.

Her back is nothing but bruises and bones. Old scars. Fresh welts. Evidence of years of silent suffering.

Slowly, I slide her pants down, too. She doesn’t fight me. She just stands there, trembling, while I see the full extent of what she's become.

Skin and bones.Bruises and hurt.

It’s now or never.

Chapter Thirty-One

Rygaard

With her head hung low, I slowly circle around to see the damage done to my beautiful girl. A gasp slips from my lips the second I see them, faint track marks lining her arms, fresh and old bruises scattered across her skin like a map of pain.

Without thinking, I reach out and trace a few of the marks around her neck, disappearing into her bra. “Oh, my sweetPresley…” I choke out, tears gathering in my eyes, my voice threatening to break. I scoop her into my arms. “Who the fuck did this to you? Give me their fucking names, and I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

The feel of her, warm and fragile against me, is short-lived.Gathering all the strength she can find, she pushes out of my arms, meeting my gaze dead-on. “What makes you think I want it to stop?” Her words slice deeper than any blade.

My face falls. “You… like what’s being done to you?”

She runs a hand along the needle marks in her arm, her voice hollow. “Clearly, I don’t feel anything when they do whatever they want to my body.”

“They?” I repeat, my stomach sinking. She nods. “If you’re high, how the fuck are you enjoying them beating you?”

“Oh, I’m not high for that part,” she says casually, like it’s normal. “And the beatings? Those only happen when I do something I know I shouldn’t.”

“You hear yourself right now?” My hands shake with rage and heartbreak. “Are you high right now, Presley? Because no one,no one, could enjoy this.”

“Say what the fuck you came here to say, Rygaard.” She sing-songs it, a cruel edge in her voice. “Time’s ticking. He’ll be back soon.” She bends down to pull her pants back on, but I stop her. “Don’t.” Even now, even broken, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I trace a faint scar under her belly button. “What’s this?”

Her wild eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, her mask slips, pain flashing deep within her. “You have your secrets,” she says coldly, slapping my hand away. “And I have mine.” She grabs her clothes, tugging them on roughly. This time, I let her.

“Tell me how to fix this, Prez,” I beg. “Because I can’t stand back and watch you kill yourself.”

“Why? Isn’t that what you’vebeendoing?” She smirks like she’s just uncovered some dark, cosmic truth. “Oh, what’s with the long face? You didn’t think I’d find out you’ve been back for awhile and just now show up?” She shoves me, weak but furious.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I force the words out. “My father kidnapped me after I left for college. Locked me away because I loved you. Because I wanted you. He gave me an ultimatum: forget the girl, or spend the rest of my life mourning her.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t see through his bluff. I fought, Presley.I fought for you, kicking and screaming.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I silence her with a finger on her lips. “I know it doesn’t make up for the time we lost. But maybe the letters will.”

“What letters?” she whispers.

“I wrote you one for every single day we were apart. Thirty-two hundred letters. Give or take.”

Her lips part in that little ‘O’ shape I’d memorized, and fuck, I want to kiss her. “You wrote me…” she says, like she can’t believe it.

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